


Who's your Daddy, Jack?

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blind Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, more like dom/sub though, porn with a surprising amount of plot, pre-reaper and post-reaper you'll notice its in two parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: Jack's a kinky fucker / Gabe is more than willing to indulge him / Time passes / Reaper decides sex is easier than feelings / A surprisingly tender moment ensues





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 'do you think jack calls gabe daddy in bed?'  
> 'oh, he most definitely does.'  
> 'i dont know if i like that.'  
> 'oh, i dont either. but he DEFINITELY does.'

Jack wasn’t sure what they were to each other—what he knew is that it was wartime, and he and Gabe weren’t scrambling to ascribe any labels to their relationship. They were two handsome men under stress living in close quarters, and there was one good way to deal with that that worked out for both of them.

Tonight, he’d found his way to not-boyfriends’ quarters and Gabe’s tongue had found its way into his mouth as Jack deftly undid Gabe’s belt, and usually that would be enough to take his mind off things but it’d apparently been a rougher day than usual and there was still irritation and weariness buzzing the back of his skull. And he wasn’t masking it as well as he thought he was.

“Hey,” Gabe said, pulling away. “Why are you spacing on me?”

Jack scowled, more at himself than anything. “I don’t know,” he said, tugging on Gabe’s belt loops. He’d still rather fuck than think about his problems. “Maybe we should mix things up.”

Gabe’s eyes narrowed, considering. “Alright,” he said. “Mix up how?”

A select few ideas came to mind that Jack liked to entertain on nights when Gabe wasn’t available, but he didn’t think it was time for those to come to light just yet. “You could stand to be rougher, for one,” he decided, talking around the point.

“Rougher,” Gabe repeated, smirking. “Do you want to call me ‘Daddy,’ too?”

The sudden interest his dick was taking in the conversation told him that the answer was ‘yes.’

“Fuck,” he said, gritting his teeth. Well, he’d already gone this far down the rabbit hole. “You better not be joking.”

“I can work with that,” was Jack’s only warning before Gabe grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, shoving him face down on the nearby bed. “’Stop’ is a good safe word, right?”

“It’ll do,” Jack said halfway into the mattress, catching his breath after the surprise of just how fucking into this he was.

“Good. Situate yourself.”

Gabe let him go, and Jack crawled hands-and-knees onto the bed, feeling the mattress shift as Gabe got behind him. He turned to look, getting a glimpse of dark hair leading a trail into Gabe’s undone pants.

“Face down,” Gabe commanded him, and he obeyed, despite the haze of almost conflicted feelings stirring around in his mind. It was humiliating, being put in a position like this, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

This was going to take from getting used to. But he was more than willing to practice.

“I gotta say, I never would have pegged you as the type,” Gabe began, as he reached around to unfasten Jack’s pants and work them down off his hips. “Though I did always think you’d look pretty after a good fucking.”

He ran a hand over Jack’s bare ass, sliding his hand up to his back and under his shirt before dragging his blunt nails back down.

“Is that what you want? Do you want me to fuck you?”

Jack shifted down to his elbows, hanging his head. “God, yes.”

“Yes what?”

Oh, fuck.

“ _Yes_ , fuck. Fuck me, Daddy. _Please_.”

Gabe chuckled, satisfied, his voice dropping into a lower register. “ _Good_ ,” he purred, assuring Jack’s erection was throbbing almost painfully before he even began loosening him up, sliding a slicked finger into him.

“Jack Morrison, everyone’s favorite poster boy,” he goaded, adding a second finger barely too soon to be comfortable. “Imagine if they could see you now…Daddy’s little toy.” He curled his fingers downwards, and Jack bit back a groan, bucking his hips. “Come on,” Gabe continued, finding that spot again and pressing down on it, the continued sensation maddening. “Make some noise for me.”

Jack’s mouth fell open without thought to the thin walls of the compound, the first sound escaping from his lips more akin to a sob. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Please. Please, I need…more.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Gabe’s fingers slid away to be replaced with the press of his dick, easing into him. No matter how much he begged, there was no way Gabe was going to force this matter.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes. _Yes_.”

“Good.”

He established a steady rhythm, holding Jack’s hips steady, moving slowly at first as Jack groaned, grabbing handfuls of the sheet.

“You sound so good when I’m fucking you,” Gabe said, sliding his hand around to Jack’s dick, matching his rhythm. “Maybe next time we’ll find something else for your pretty mouth to do.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, beyond eloquence as Gabe increased his pace, no hint of tenderness left now that Jack was good and ready, sliding out and slamming into him, the grip Gabe had on his hip doubtless going to bruise. Jack didn’t make a habit of being vocal during sex, but he let himself go this time, gasping with each wave of sensation, surprising himself sometimes at the desperateness of his cries but not being in the state of mind to care.

“So good,” Gabe growled behind him, apparently in a similar state. “So fucking good…”

It didn’t take long for Jack to reach his limit, and he didn’t think Gabe was far behind. “Gabe,” he warned, breathlessly.

“Yeah, I got you,” Gabe said, shifting his grip and giving Jack a few final tugs before he spent himself in his hand, moaning deeply and legs going weak as Gabe continued rocking into him, finishing himself off.

They collapsed into the bed afterwards, shoulders overlapping and legs tangling in the twin-sized space as they caught their breath.

“Fuck,” said Jack.

“Yeah,” agreed Gabe. Then, glancing over at him. “You good?”

“I’m good.”

“You want to do this again sometime?”

Jack grinned lazily, closing his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “We definitely should.”


	2. Chapter 2

If there was one good thing about war, it was that it forced people to settle their differences.

Talon had formed a tense and temporary truce with the new Overwatch in light of the severity of the Omnic resurgence, and it was almost like old times—Jack handling the nice, public relations missions while behind the scenes, getting the actual work done…

He wasn’t sure he was ready to call him “Gabe” again just yet.

Point being, there was plenty of stress to go around, and the two of them were continually being placed in dangerously close quarters.

Jack was patrolling the hallways one night, for no one’s benefit but his own insomnia, when a dark cloud snuck out from under a doorway, encircling him briefly before solidifying somewhere behind him.

“Jack,” it said, in that growl that he still hadn’t gotten used to.

(Or maybe it was that he was _too_ used to it—the first time he’d heard Reaper’s voice it had taken him shamefully off guard, still conditioned after decades to associate it with Gabe lording over him in bed.)

“Reyes,” he responded, curious, and amused at the dramatic flair. At least there were some parts of him that hadn’t changed.

“You should be careful, wandering around at night,” Reaper said, steps heavy as he paced out of sight. His visor indicated the movement in his peripheral.

“Or what?” Jack prodded, interest pooling in his gut as he played along.

There was silence for a moment, and when Reaper spoke again, it was right behind his ear.

“Someone might take advantage of that.”

Jack’s heart leapt in surprise even as he kept his demeanor calm.

There was a smart decision to make here, and a potentially very, very stupid one.

He hadn’t had a chance to make many stupid decisions lately.

“Maybe they should,” he decided.

Reaper chuckled, low and rich, and then grabbed Jack, yanking him backwards. Everything went black. He had the disconcerting feeling that he was falling for a split second before the world materialized once more, and he stumbled into Reaper, solid behind him.

He was given three seconds to orient himself, looking around and recognizing the familiar setup of that base’s bedrooms, before Reaper shoved him forward into a wall, pinning him under his weight.

“Who’s your Daddy, _Jack_?” he goaded, running his talons along the back of Jack’s neck.

“I forget.”

For this smart remark, Reaper pulled him off the wall and shoved him back against it, with more force this time—but nowhere near as much as he could have. Jack had been in a real fight with him before; he could tell when Reaper was pulling his punches.

“Don’t get mouthy,” he warned. Jack grinned under his mask, relaxing into his role.

“Won’t happen again,” he said, resting his forehead against the wall. Reaper stepped forward and pressed flush against him, sliding a hand down his hip to palm at the erection making itself known through Jack’s pants.

Jack closed his eyes, breath hitching. Gabriel was never a _skinny_ guy, for sure, but the bulk pressed up against his back suggested things that did wonders for the imagination.

And the bulk pressing against his hip was something he’d gone way too long without.

Reaper pulled his hand away, hitching a claw on Jack’s belt loop briefly. “Take these off.”

Jack allowed himself a groan of disappointment at the loss of contact before expertly undoing his belt and pants, barely getting them loose before Reaper’s hand found its way down again, sliding past his waistline and grabbing his dick, coaxing it to full erection. The gauntlet was gone, now, though Jack couldn’t imagine when that would have happened.

He looked down to see, but Reaper’s free hand immediately dug into his short hair, yanking his head back upwards.

“Did I say you could look?” he growled, at the same time he ran a blunt nail along the bottom of Jack’s dick.

“ _Ah_ ,” Jack gasped, momentarily at a loss for words. “Sorry—”

Reaper hummed in agreement, the noise resonating through both of them as he continued the task at hand, coolness of his skin new but motions intimately familiar, knowing just where to twist and when to slow. Now that he knew Jack would behave himself, Reaper slid his clawed gauntlet up Jack’s shirt and traced lines along all of his favorite spots, Jack gasping in surprise and recognition, memories of those same hands surfacing from long ago.

His hips jerked forward when Reaper ran his claws, feather-light, up his abdomen, pulling another pleased hum out of the chest behind him.

Reaper pressed closer to him, spreading out his hand on Jack’s chest to hold him in place.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he said, nevertheless increasing his pace. “You shouldn’t be, either.”

Jack nodded, whimpering in frustration and trying to follow those instructions, even as Reaper tried to break him—but he couldn’t last for long. Reaper laughed, low and sadistic, and Jack cried out as he came, relaxing into his grip.

“What did I just say?” Reaper warned, even as the arm around his chest loosened its hold on him, almost delicately returning Jack to standing on his own two legs.

“Sorry,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I forgot how good you are at that.”

“If you’re going to apologize, do it properly.” He grabbed Jack’s shoulder, turning him around and pushing him on to his knees—not that he really had to do much more than suggest it before Jack followed along. He watched with interest as Reaper removed his belts (with two gauntlets, now—he’d given up on wondering how that worked) and unfastened his pants, pulling out his dick that was now heavy with interest. “There,” he said. “ _Apologize_.”

Jack gave him one last appreciative look-over before taking off his mask, the loss of his visor rendering the images around him dark and largely indistinguishable. He placed it carefully next to him before reaching out and taking the opportunity to do something he’d been thinking about for weeks—placing his hands on Reaper’s thighs and running his thumbs up the inside of them, feeling out their shape through the fabric.

It was a brief, but immensely satisfying detour. His hand found Reaper’s dick, and he gave it a few tugs before leaning forward, taking him into his mouth. Reaper responded with a satisfied groan, putting a hand on Jack’s head and running his fingers along his scalp.

“You always did look good on your knees,” he mused, rocking his hips slowly forward. Jack took him in as far as he could, hand still wrapped around the base, following the rhythm they were working out. His other hand stayed at Reaper’s thigh, absently running his fingers along the sensitive skin there, as well as he could through the fabric. “So fucking _good_ …”

That’s how he knew he was getting to him. He hummed around his dick, expertly ignoring the urge to grin when Reaper’s hips stuttered in their movement. _Been a long time for you, too, hasn’t it?_

He couldn’t exactly utilize all his old tricks with Reaper still mostly clothed, but he worked with what he had, taking encouragement in every quiet gasp he heard above him and twitch of the fingers at his scalp. It wasn’t long before he could tell Reaper was having trouble keeping the steady pace—he probably would have fucked his throat raw if Jack let him—and the talons at his scalp were just starting to grip hard enough to be painful.

“ _Jack_ ,” he said, a fair warning that went dutifully ignored. He scraped his teeth against the bottom of his dick, humming again, and Reaper thrust forward, groaning deeply as Jack coaxed him through his orgasm.

There was a moment of quiet as they stilled, Jack sitting back and listening to Reaper catch his breath, leaning over him.

Then the sounds of his breathing were gone, and Jack was worried he’d left—but then he heard those heavy footsteps across the room. He grinned, and refastened his pants, situating himself before replacing his visor. He stood up, his surroundings resolving themselves into a recognizable scene.

Reaper was standing across the room, staring at him, wisps of smoke rising from the folds of his clothing.

“Didn’t know you’d taken up smoking after sex,” Jack said, smirking behind his mask. Reaper’s head shifted slightly, confused by the statement, before turning away abruptly as realization hit.

“ _Ugh_ ,” he went. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jack said, walking over slowly, trying not to seem too much like he was approaching a scared animal. Reaper tracked his every movement, arms crossing as he got closer.

Jack reached out and touched his index finger to the forehead of that white mask, tracing a line down its owlish nose. Reaper visibly tensed at this, as if readying himself to leap—but he allowed it.

“What’s under here,” he wondered out loud, “that makes you more comfortable propositioning me than showing me your face?”

“A mistake.”

“I’ve seen my fair share of those.”

Reaper jerked his neck, breaking contact with the hand at his mask as he turned away. Jack let it fall to his side. Right, so that was a sensitive subject. He found himself frustrated—irritated, even—that this new Gabriel didn’t trust him with it, when they were so close in another life…but that was another matter. He could mourn that relationship some other time. Right now, he was trying to establish this one.

He looked around the room, instead, noting the lack of any personal detail. It could have been anyone’s, except the only person here who would have a room so sterile of personality was the specter standing next to him.

_Still_ standing next to him, despite Jack’s obvious attempts at getting under his skin.

Maybe he was looking for some prodding.

Jack took his visor off once again, this time holding it out towards Reaper.

“I’ll trade you.”

The mask was bright enough against the dark of Reaper’s hood that Jack could make out its movements, if he looked closely. His offer wasn’t ignored, at least, as the mask turned towards his hand and then stilled.

His visor was lifted out of his hand, slowly.

He raised an eyebrow, curious, and trying to disguise the mounting anxiety at having his sight removed from his mental map of the room. He didn’t like it, but that was the point of the gesture.

The edges of the white mask disappeared from his vision, and then reappeared, pressed against his open palm.

“…it’s heavier than it looks,” he said, feeling the need to break the silence. He turned it over in his hands, feeling each edge, finding the inside to be as cold as the rest of it.

He turned his head towards Reaper, because he couldn’t help but wonder, but the man had the habit of being an indistinct black smear even when Jack had his visor—there wasn’t anything to see, especially now.

So he reached his hand out, instead, palm forward in the air between them. He couldn’t be sure how far away it was from Reaper’s face. He moved his hand forward, inch by inch, waiting to be intercepted.

Reaper’s gauntlet found his wrist.

But instead of being pushed away, he was guided forward, nearly as slowly, until his hand met Reaper’s jaw.

He was solid, at least, but that was where the similarities to his memory ended. The skin there was cold and ridged with scar tissue, and colder air was brushing against him like the mist on a pool of dry ice.

Jack moved his hand up to run his thumb under Reaper’s eye.

Reaper leaned into the touch. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Jack stilled.

Then he moved away, Jack’s hand left floating in the air for a sparse moment before his visor was pressed into it. He took it as Reaper snatched his own mask back, and then the room went silent.

Jack didn’t need working eyes to know that he had been left alone.

“We should do this again sometime,” he said into the empty room, to no one in particular.

Maybe, somehow, Gabe would hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. you ever try and forget you're writing dirty fic about 50+ yr olds, but then think of the perfect dad joke and HAVE to put it in there?  
> 2\. will pay blizzard $1m for a "who's your daddy" reaper voice line


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